


ruby heartstring, palm to palm

by MissFaber



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Background Merthur, Canon Era, Court Sorcerer Merlin (Merlin), Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Good Morgana (Merlin), Magic Ban Lifted (Merlin), Mentioned Gwencelot, everyone is happy and a whole damn family and it makes me want to cry, feral magical lesbians on an island making blood promises oh my, lots of bamf magic users in camelot, past morgwen, this was supposed to be a 3k word one shot but i'm literally an insatiable whore, yeah yeah just suspend your disbelief and enjoy it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:00:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24501220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissFaber/pseuds/MissFaber
Summary: “I wish for you to stay with me, Lady Morgana,” Nimueh murmurs, tongue curling indecently around her name. “By the time we’re done, I promise you will wish it too.”When Morgause falls mysteriously ill to something even Merlin cannot cure, a desperate Morgana strikes a bargain with the High Priestess Nimueh to save her sister’s life.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Minor or Background Relationship(s), Morgana/Nimueh (Merlin)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	ruby heartstring, palm to palm

**Author's Note:**

> [(x)](https://missfaber.tumblr.com/post/619783145770860544/ruby-heartstring-palm-to-palm-a) I'm not really sure what's going on, I had an impulse earlier today and I went with it, but I'm in rarepair heaven

They are dining in the great hall, he and Arthur, when a great commotion outside the closed doors erases the rare, relaxed smoothness of the king’s brow. Merlin watches the fork with the intended bite of herb crusted capon drop from Arthur’s grip. In a flash he has crossed half the chamber, purpose in his stride.

“Arthur,” Merlin gasps, both a plea and a warning, before scrambling to his feet to follow.

The doors open before Arthur reaches it, and suddenly Excalibur is raised above Arthur’s shoulders, ready for combat. Merlin stands beside his king, scepter gripped tightly in one hand while the other is raised at eye level, fingers splayed.

But a moment later Arthur is rushing forward, Excalibur clattering against the stone floor, forgotten. Leon and a sobbing Morgana have entered; despite Merlin’s instant concern for his sister, his eyes close in on the cloaked form cradled in Leon’s arms. Arthur stands by Morgana, trying to pry her from Leon’s elbow. She resists, responding to Arthur’s concerned questions with unintelligible noises. Only when Merlin has joined them, a gentle hand reaching up to stroke her temple, do Morgana’s hysterics break, her eyes honing on him.

“Merlin!” Fresh tears stream down Morgana’s white face. “Merlin, help her!”

Face grim, Leon deposits his bundle on the dinner table. Morgause is pale as death itself, the color bleached from her skin and her summer-gold hair, leaving thin strands of white. Merlin, unused as he still is to commanding servants of which he is no longer, suddenly finds himself barking orders to fetch the court physician with utmost haste.

“Or should we take her there?” Merlin rakes a hand through his hair, a frazzled motion he repeats many times in his panic. He looks at Leon, wondering why the knight hadn’t taken Morgause straight to the court physician’s chambers in the first place. Wondering what had happened to cause this.

“It is a magical illness, Merlin, I can feel it,” Morgana whispers, suddenly at his elbow. “Ilna cannot help.”

Merlin sighs and orders the servants to bring Ilna, anyway, and they scatter like ants. Despite the pain throbbing in his heart as Morgana’s sobs fill his ears, Merlin leans his scepter against a chair and dives into his work with total focus, leaning forward to inspect Morgause.

“She lives,” he tells Morgana, looking first for evidence of her breath and finding it. Dimly he can hear Arthur repeating his words again and again in a futile attempt to calm her. Merlin locks out the noise, continues his examination. Her skin is parchment-dry as if not only drained of color but of life. Moisture. Merlin asks for water and a hand gives him a cup. Leon lifts Morgause and Merlin tries to force her to drink, but her throat does not move even as he massages it. Something catches his eye and Merlin leans in, shoving the cup at Leon’s chest.

A thin dark stain, almost black, colors the inside of Morgause’s lips. _Poison._ Merlin whispers a hurried spell and holds an orb of light close to Morgause’s mouth.

It is not a stain at all, but an intricate pattern of thin, dark webbing the color of evergreens. Merlin rubs his thumb against it, but it does not smudge beneath the pressure of his finger, permanent as the ink of the druids. He frowns, mystified. He has not seen anything like this before. He will have to waste precious hours of Morgause’s life on research, and he grimly tells Arthur and Morgana so, showing them the markings inside Morgause’s lips.

Morgana shakes her head. “Then I have no choice,” she murmurs, grim determination locking her strong jaw. 

“What does that mean,” Arthur demands, nearly not a question in his panic.

Morgana looks at Merlin when she answers. “I’m going to the Isle of the Blessed.”

Merlin’s eyes leap to Arthur’s. His heart clenches at the horror and the guilt he sees there.

Merlin stumbles back. “No,” he protests, barely audible, while Arthur rants and raves, forbidding Morgana this suicidal journey.

“Just as you are my brother, she is my sister,” Morgana contests, just as stubborn a Pendragon as he. “I _have_ to save her.”

“I am not only your brother! I am your king.”

Morgana’s face shutters over. “I will follow you in all things, Arthur,” she says, stony expression cracking as another sob overtakes her. “But not this. Not this!”

Merlin sees the stricken expression cross Arthur’s face before he conceals it. Merlin knows the thought weighing Arthur’s mind. He is not Uther. He will not forbid her from trying to save someone she loves.

But he loves Morgana, too.

“You will not go alone,” Arthur concedes, his head dropping as if bowing beneath this new weight. “Merlin and I will accompany you, as well as a legion of knights.”

Morgana nods once, a stiff motion. “Thank you.”

Arthur orders the remaining servants as well as Ilna, who has now appeared, to pack food and medicinal supplies for the journey. Morgana orders Percival, who hovers with Gwaine in the doorway, to help her secure Morgause upon a steady horse. Merlin sidles to Arthur, the slightest touch enough to command the king’s full attention, and Merlin tells him he will fetch his magic books and other tomes to do some reading on the journey. “I might discover something useful before we get there,” he whispers.

“Good thinking,” Arthur responds. “We will leave from the courtyard in three candlemarks,” he tells the rest of the room, before resuming his quiet conference with Leon, who will be in command of Camelot in the king’s absence.

Merlin rushes off to his and Arthur’s chambers, mentally cataloguing the books he will need.

* * *

It is easy to rid herself of Percy. Once Morgause is secured to the steadiest horse—Anglides, Merlin’s mare—Morgana reminds him to mobilize the knights.

When Percival frowns at her, she tells him that King Arthur ordered a legion of knights accompany them. “Didn’t you hear him?” she frets, and reminds him of Arthur’s time constraint, which is surely still ringing in his ears.

Morgana springs into motion as soon as he’s gone. She spares a precious moment to tug with all her might at the rope holding Morgause secure; if Morgause falls during the ride, she will never forgive herself. She decided Morgause should have her own horse instead of riding in front of her on hers as two horses with a lesser weight would move faster than one. She scrambles onto her own trusted mare, Emalare, and takes Anglides’s reins into her gloved hands.

She doesn’t have supplies, nor food, not even a water skin. She doesn’t have a sword—this is the one need that makes her wince— but she decides she won’t need one. If the people she is traveling to decide to harm her, swords will be useless against them.

She rides quick and blind and deaf. It is the only way, as Arthur will learn of her disappearance and her deception in a few minutes even if she had managed to leave the citadel’s grounds without attracting his attention. She rides hard through the day and night, struggling to follow Merlin’s footsteps from years past in the story she still remembers well, ignoring the pangs of hunger and sweeps of exhaustion. If she slows, Arthur will catch her, and Morgause’s life will be as well as forfeit.

As the sun of the next morning dawns, Morgana sees the white mountains, the still lake, the lone boat. She unties and lowers Morgause to the boat carefully, trying not to jostle her. Shaking arms reach for and stir the oars through the water that feels thick as sludge. Her only outlets are harsh pants and hitched sobs that float onto the water and vanish, sounds that no one hears.

At the shore of the isle she ties the boat and drags Morgause onto the base of the stone steps. Then the world tilts dangerously, the damp ground rising to meet her.

* * *

The world is grey and black and grey again as Morgana slowly blinks her way into wakefulness. The world is hard and cold beneath her cheek.

_Morgause._

Morgana gasps, pushing herself up on weak arms, head turning. The fearful scream freezes in her throat as she sees her sister’s prone body lying a few paces away. She crawls to her, patting her body and her cheeks, but Morgause seems unchanged, no more harmed than she already was.

“Lady Morgana… this is a surprise.”

Morgana twists to face the sound, her body automatically moving to shield her sister’s. A woman stands before her, in a cloak caught between pale blue and slate grey, beautiful and tall. Morgana suspects the woman would be tall even if she wasn’t viewing her from a half-crouch on the ground. She has a long face and full lips and long, dark hair in many thin braids. Her blue eyes are bright, so obscenely bright that Morgana wonders if it’s magic.

Her face needles at Morgana’s memory. She has seen this woman before, and she follows this intuition, placing her full faith in it. Perhaps she is simply reliving Merlin’s story.

“Nimueh.”

Nimueh tilts her head, conducting a wordless study. Morgana returns it. _Are you a ghost? A malevolent spirit tied to this place?_ The questions unravel on Morgana’s tongue, but she doesn’t give voice to them. The presence of the woman who swindled Merlin so horribly leaves her off balance, but it doesn’t change her mission. She came to find someone who would save Morgause, and while Nimueh isn’t what she expected, that is what she can do.

So Morgana heaves a breath and pushes to her feet. She will make this last bargain standing on her feet.

“I’ve come to ask you to save my sister’s life, High Priestess.”

For a moment Nimueh is silent, still face betraying none of her thoughts. Then she steps closer. “I can see you don’t know what ails her. I must deduce that before I can offer my help.”

Panic spikes within her. She doesn’t know the extent of the priestess’s magic—could she harm Morgause with a touch?

When Nimueh takes another step, Morgana holds her arms out without thinking. Nimueh freezes. “Wait. Can’t I simply make the bargain—water from the cup, a life for a life?”

Nimueh’s brow arches. Her stone expression cracks. She regards Morgana now with naked curiosity. “You would rather trade your life than allow me to go near her?”

Morgana swallows. Nimueh steps closer. “Your life may prove to be too steep a price.”

“It’s not,” Morgana snaps, insulted. She is as honorable as Merlin, as Arthur. No one would hold their sacrifice in question. “I knew the choice I was making when I came here.”

“It may not be _necessary,”_ Nimueh presses. “Won’t you let me look?”

Her voice drops to a husky pleading note, just as she steps even closer. Morgana holds up her hands defensively, though she can do nothing with them, nothing but swat Nimueh away.

“If you hurt her, I’ll kill you.” She turns her voice venomous, full of dark promise. It is an easy thing.

If Nimueh is affected, she doesn’t show it. She seems to take Morgana’s stillness as permission and bends by Morgause’s side. Morgana is hit with a strong scent, wet earth and torchfire, as she brushes past her.

Morgana watches Nimueh closely as her hands brush over Morgause’s body. The touches must be too light to reveal anything, but Morgana bites her tongue. Eventually Nimueh finds the markings on the insides of Morgause’s lips, and she halts her examination.

Morgana can’t stop herself from asking. “Do you know what it is?”

“Yes.” Nimueh does not elaborate further, sparking fury in Morgana. “She is not dead, or near it. Your life is too high a price.”

Morgana feels her face crack; she’s smiling, she thinks, her mouth hurts and she can feel every muscle in her face twitching wildly. “Then there’s a cure,” she says, unable to feel embarrassment when her voice cracks.

Nimueh wastes time staring at her with inscrutable eyes before answering. “There is. And I will share it for a price.”

Morgana's response is shameless, instant. “Name it. I will pay any price,” she promises, she pleads, forgetting the wisdom of holding her tongue. She won’t use calculations or deceptions, lies or intelligence. She will do nothing that will risk Morgause’s neck.

“I have but one thing I desire.”

Morgana waits, heart pounding in her chest. She closes her eyes briefly, then opens them. She is no sacrificial lamb headed to slaughter.

“The cure is tied to this isle,” Nimueh says, speaking slowly. “And so you will have to remain here for some time. I would ask you to allow me to stay with you while you nurse her back to health.”

Morgana frowns. This doesn’t make sense. “I can’t control what you do,” she answers without thinking, then curses her too-quick tongue.

Nimueh smiles, showing white teeth. “Still, I would like your cooperation.”

Her eyes run over Nimueh, a shudder she cannot control rippling down her spine. “Why?”

“You have power.” Nimueh’s voice dips low again, a change Morgana can feel on her skin. “Unexplored power, depths of it… I know you know. I want to teach you.”

“I am no sorceress,” Morgana whispers. “I am a seer.”

“Is that what _Emrys_ told you?”

The way Nimueh sneers Merlin’s Old name sets her hackles on edge. “It’s what my _sister_ told me.”

Nimueh glances at Morgause as if she’s forgotten her. It makes fury rise in Morgana’s chest again, fire-hot. Then Nimueh slides closer, closer, until she has no choice but to answer the pull of those vivid eyes.

“I wish for you to stay with me, Lady Morgana,” Nimueh murmurs, tongue curling indecently around her name. “By the time we’re done, I promise you will wish it too.”

Morgana closes her eyes, the swell of hope she’d felt only moments ago crushed by a boulder. She imagines the many spells Nimueh could cast on her in that time that would turn her words true. The hellion, the rebel within her protests. _This is worse than death._ But then she looks at her sister’s bloodless face, and she knows she will strike the bargain. 

Resigned to her fate, pangs of regret and longing fill her, rippling from her heart to her limbs. She thinks of Gwen. Once, the pain of Gwen’s choice to put their girlhood love behind her was insurmountable. But when it passed, as most things do, Morgana was able to find the sweet friendship she had with Gwen once more. She wants to watch her be happy, wants to watch her belly grow round with Lancelot’s babes. She thinks of Arthur and Merlin, one inseparable from the other now in her mind. Merlin has become her brother too, in every way that matters. It has been a joy to watch them rule together, to watch magic and tolerance return to Camelot, settling over the turrets and trees like a lavender cloud. She will never again challenge Arthur with word or sword. She will never again laugh with Merlin, help him mix potions or lie in the fields while he makes creatures in the clouds above. She thinks of Mordred, who is half brother and half son to her.

The last brings a tear to her eye. Though she trusts the boy will be cared for in her absence, especially by dear Merlin, she worries for him. Mordred loves her with a fierce intensity that sometimes leaves her awed. She doesn’t know how well his mind and heart will survive her loss.

She doesn’t want to stay on this cursed isle. She wants to go _home._

“I won’t forfeit my mind,” she says meaningfully, a spike of fear for Morgause’s life nearly forcing her to take back the words.

Nimueh flinches, the slightest twitch quickly hidden, though Morgana’s keen eyes see it and deliberate. “I asked for your cooperation, your _consent._ It was my first and only condition.”

Morgana takes a deep breath. She has come this far. “I need something more than your word.”

If Nimueh is still insulted, the emotion doesn’t show in her stone face, frozen in that small mischievous smile. “Very well. A vow made in blood.”

Morgana knows enough of magic from Merlin and Morgause to know the power of this promise. If Nimueh breaks it, she will die.

“Very well.” Morgana narrows her eyes, forcing her exhausted brain to see any oversights or omissions before it’s too late. “You and I will make a vow in blood that you will not use your magic to alter my mind in any way, to force me to stay with you. Then you will tell me how to cure Morgause. I will… stay for the length of time needed to do so, then my sister and I will both leave here and return to Camelot with our lives intact.”

“It is done.”

Morgana sighs. There is one more obstacle.

“King Arthur is following me,” she confesses, for she knows it to be true. “He could be bearing upon us now.”

Nimueh nods, understanding her true meaning. “I will make it so that he and his men cannot see the isle.”

Morgana quickly raises a hand. “You will not hurt them either,” she quickly adds, cursing herself for forgetting. How could she forget what Nimueh had done to poor Hunith and Gaius, to _Merlin?_ “No one back home, no one I love. It will be part of our blood vow.”

“Ah-ah.” Nimueh raises a finger, a twinkle in her eye. “I will only give my blood on my vow not to alter your state of mind. The rest is a mere trade, and you will have to rely on faith.”

Morgana starts to chew on her lip, then ceases the childish motion. She has no choice, no time to waste. “I’m satisfied.”

Nimueh’s teeth flash in another smile. “The bargain is struck.”

“How do I cure Morgause?”

“The Isle of the Blessed is not idly named,” Nimueh starts, and Morgana forces herself not to claw the answer out of her. She will be patient. “Underneath us is a spring of cold water that can cure any ailment, magical or not, that is not the product of a priestess’s curse. It can cure her. Every day she will drink from this stream, for four fortnights.”

That sets Morgana’s stomach aflutter with unease. She forces herself to be grateful. Fifty six days are a pittance compared to a lifetime.

“And on the fifty sixth day?” Morgana asks. She needs to be sure.

“She will open her eyes. She will be whole again.”

_And we will leave the following moment._

“The vow,” Morgana reminds the priestess with a suddenly dry throat.

Nimueh’s grin is wolfish, white points of canine teeth. Morgana gasps when soft, long fingers brush and then intertwine with hers. Nimueh’s smile stretches as she raises their entwined hands between them.

 _“Bittan.”_ Though it shouldn’t shock her, she gasps when Nimueh’s eyes flash gold.

 _Merlin,_ she thinks pitifully, heart twisting. Then a searing, slicing pain across her palm, pulling another gasp from her—and wet heat. Nimueh squeezes her palm tighter, and Morgana tries not to wince, tries to stare down Nimueh’s intense gaze bravely.

“I will not use my magic to alter your state of mind, affect your decisions, or sway your heart. I will not use my magic to change who you are in any way.”

It is more than she asked for. Morgana’s skin tingles. Blood, hers or Nimueh’s, slides slick and slow down her arm.

“This I vow.” Nimueh squeezes her hand once more. _“Ic Biotian.”_

Flash of gold, and Morgana is released. Relief overcomes her body, spills from her lips with a breath. This is better than she’d ever hoped. There is no danger that Morgana will want to stay, and so she will be with Arthur and Mordred and Gwen and Merlin soon.

“Show me the spring,” she commands, the Lady Morgana once more.

* * *

Later— after she has waded through the underground spring that felt warm against her skin but ice cold in her throat, after she brought a cup to her sister’s lips and watched the miracle of her swallowing every drop, after she collapsed once more and woke, dizzy and disoriented, to a night sky and a mysterious hot meal that she wolfed down although the meat looked questionable at best— she stares at the fresh cut slicing her palm in two, still an angry red though it no longer bleeds.

_Can you teach me to do that?_

Morgana stifles the impulse before it fully rises, refuses to give it air. She is angry and fitful as she tries to settle down to sleep, wondering if Nimueh knows something she does not.


End file.
